


The Portal

by Aelia_D



Category: Original Work
Genre: Crisis of Faith, Fluff, M/M, Oral Sex, Priest Kink, demonic bargain, humping, non denominational fantasy priest, priest/demon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-04
Updated: 2018-12-04
Packaged: 2019-09-07 05:46:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16848298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aelia_D/pseuds/Aelia_D
Summary: When a priest’s assignment proves too difficult for him to manage, he makes a deal with a demon to complete it.





	The Portal

 

There’s a demonic portal in the basement. Somewhere the veil between worlds is thin and the creatures have an easier time getting through. Perhaps it had been opened with a ritual at some point. You don’t know, and ultimately it doesn’t matter. You’ve been here for months now, working to close the portal, to get rid of what the homeowners had originally thought was “just a haunting.” It wasn’t. They’ve moved out temporarily, putting their belongings in storage and giving you free run of the place. You’ve furnished with thrift store essentials, things that can get damaged if demons take offense at your presence, and it will be no great loss.

Since you moved in, you’ve tried everything: prayer, holy water, sage, salt, garlic, singing bowls, even crystals. Nothing has worked. You’ve chanted and warded and banished every demon that has come through the portal, sending them back within a few minutes of their crossing over into this dimension. The worst any of them has managed so far is throwing a chair.

The demons aren’t the problem.

Yet.

It’s the portal.

You can see it. A gift your god has blessed you with, the thing that brought you to the priesthood in the first place. You spend many hours in prayer and contemplation sitting in front of the portal, asking for guidance from your god. Your fingers tease your prayer beads, cycling over the worn stone, clicking them together as you recite the prayers of each.

You consult the holy books at the local church. You scour the internet, looking for answers, but none are forthcoming. The demons still aren’t the problem. The portal is. The demons coming through so far are still small and weak, able to cause disturbances and distress people, but not enough to do real damage. But it’s big enough to let something truly dangerous through.

Your vigil at the portal takes its toll on your body, and exhaustion haunts you. It begins to feel like a trial of faith. So you double down on the prayer, banishing the demons faster. Spending more time in holy contemplation. Your god has not forsaken you. You will stand true and strong in the face of this. You cannot falter.

It is one such afternoon, about six months after you started this project, when things change. You’ve just sent another demon back through the portal, and you’re running your fingers over your prayer beads when the shadows flicker.

Something has arrived.

The hair on the back of your neck stands on end. Whatever is here is more of a threat than anything you’ve faced before. The shadows in the far corner of the room deepen. The lightbulb above you flickers and threatens to go out.

“We’ll have none of that now.” You say, forcing a calmness into your voice that you do not feel. You are a priest. You do not feel fear in the face of the demonic. You are protected by your god’s grace.

“Who are you to speak to me that way?” A rich, rumbling voice demands from the darkened corner. You see eyes, glittering violet against the blackness. They look amused. “Who are you, to banish so many of my minions back? Do you think yourself significant? You will not block my plans.”

“I am but a priest.” You say, your fingers still on your beads. “I am merely doing my job. Nothing more than that.”

The shadow laughs. It’s a dark laugh, one that makes a primal corner of your brain cower in fear. You blink slowly, refusing to let that show on your face. You cannot control your emotions, but you can control what you allow to show, and you will not let it think you cowed.

“Go home, boy.” It says.

“You, first.” You say.

You banish the demon with a quick, well placed command.

Things are quiet for a few days, but the demonic portal remains. Despite hours of contemplation, no more demons come through.

You’re sitting in bed, reading about how to close demonic portals on your laptop when the shadows around you flicker.

“Do we need to do this again?” You ask the air.

“What do I need to offer to make you leave?” The shadow asks.

“There is nothing you could offer me.” You inform it.

“Nothing at all?” It asks. Shadows flicker at the edge of your vision, and you feel it caress your cheek, its ghostly touch running down your arm. It’s just enough pressure for you to feel its presence.

“Stop that.” You say. The touch is gone. “I do not make deals with demons. I banish them. I close portals, and I move on. Your kind wreaks too much havoc in this realm to be allowed to exist here.”

“And your god? He helps you?” The demon asks, its form seeming to settle at the foot of the bed. You can almost make out a male shape, cocking its head at you.

“Yes.” You say. “I am a priest. It is with my god’s blessing that I do this.”

“Then why is this so difficult?” The demon asks.

You hate hearing your insecurity laid bare. Why has it been so difficult this time? Have you been forsaken? Is this a trial? The frustration you’ve felt for these many months bubbles up and becomes anger, and in that anger, you banish the demon before burying your face in the pillows and letting yourself wallow. It’s weak, and it feels pathetic, but you’ve never struggled like this before, and now that you’re struggling you don’t know how to handle it.

There are things to do, and you cannot hide in bed and pity yourself. So you give yourself the night, and the next day you get up, take a shower, and get back to it. Sure, you’re a little wobbly still, but you focus. It’s what you’ve always done, and you’re good at this.

You’re kneeling beside the portal, chalk in hand, marking out a circle to try another ritual when you see the shadows flicker.

“I know you’re here,” you say, continuing to write in chalk. There’s an open book beside you which you’re referencing for sigils and the ritual to close the portal.

“How do you always know?” The voice is almost petulant this time.

“It’s a gift,” you laugh. Something in you loosens. You still have your sight. You are making progress, even if it doesn’t feel like it. The shadow demon is the only one that has come through in a few weeks. This has to mean something.

“Ooh, I haven’t seen this ritual in centuries,” the demon murmurs, its voice suddenly very close to your ear.

You jerk away, dropping the chalk, and look in its direction. It is more solid now, more… masculine. The more time it spends in this world, the more it is able to manifest. Today it has a head and torso, still the inky blackness, the absence of light that is a shadow, but with a form that suggests a muscular body and model’s face.

“Don’t  _do_  that.” You gasp, pressing one hand to your pounding heart. You tell yourself that it’s because of the scare, not anything else, but the excuse is feeble at best. It’s like the demon has been digging through your deepest fantasies, and found your ideal man to emulate.

“Hmm?” It arches a black brow at you. “Did you not want help?”

“What?” You feel like your jaw is hanging open. “Why would you help me?”

The demon’s full lips spread in a wicked smile, flashing shockingly white teeth at you. They’re sharp, and then suddenly they’re not, except for the canines. You blink, and draw your gaze away from its teeth, to its violet eyes.

“I have a proposition,” it says, crossing big muscular arms that have solidified from the shadowy smoke. “I’ll help you close this portal, and you let me stay on this side of it.”

You squint at it, trying to decide what game it’s playing right now.

“I can’t let a demon stay on this side of a portal deliberately so it can wreak havoc,” you say.

“He.” The demon corrects.

“I cannot let a demon stay on this side of the portal so  _he_  can wreak havoc.” You repeat. He nods at your rephrasing. Your mind is going a million miles a minute. That he has begun manifesting a form and chosen a gender tells you that he is already tethered to this realm, and perhaps this is why you haven’t been able to close this portal. You wonder if you’d even be able to banish him back at this point.

“I won’t be wreaking havoc,” He says.

“What?” You ask, looking again. The demon has now formed an entire body, which seems solid, and is entirely black. He’s got close-cropped hair, and a body made for temptation. He’s muscular and beautiful, with pointed horns which jut from his brow and luminescent violet eyes that captivate and draw you in. His eyes are a sharp contrast against creature’s skin which seemed to absorb light while giving way to wisps of shadows that danced around him.

And, oh gods, he’s naked. You get an eyeful of his entire muscular form as you look him over. You blush brightly and force yourself to look at his face. There’s a knowing smirk teasing his lips. You scowl in response.

“I’ve got one goal. Only one soul to corrupt.” He seems to pause for dramatic effect. “You.”

You close your eyes and try to steady your breathing. Of course. He wants to corrupt you, and now, at your weakest moment since you’ve joined the priesthood, you’re tempted to take his deal to close the portal and let him try. But if you give in now, how much easier will it be to give in again in the future?

Still, this portal is the hardest to close you’ve ever faced. They’re never this difficult. And you’re confident you can stand strong against him. You eye the demon, deliberately keeping your gaze above his waist. He’s beautiful, and you can’t quite bear it, but you’re fairly certain that you don’t have another option. Demons do excel at putting humans between a rock and a hard place.

“You won’t succeed, but I’ll let you try,” you say, extending your hand to him. “You have six months.”

“A year and a day is the standard time,” he says.

“Fine.” You concede.

The triumphant grin he gives you makes something flutter in your belly. You squash that down, refusing to acknowledge the moment of weakness.

“Deal.” He shakes your hand. It’s big, and shockingly warm as it envelops yours. You look from his face to his hand, and back at his face. You know you’ll end up regretting this. You can already feel it. But you need to close this portal.

The demon takes the chalk from your hand and changes the sigils on the ground, correcting your circle in many places, before adjusting numerous lines between, connecting things you’d never have thought to connect. He steps carefully out of the circle before closing it entirely.

You pull out your phone and snap a picture for the sake of documenting and publishing to the religious journals. Perhaps this can help others in the future. He glances at you sidelong, but doesn’t comment as passes you the vial of blessed water. You glance from it to him, startled. He appears unphased by the thin glass between him and the water. You mentally file that away to ask about later.

“Sprinkle this at the poles, and recite whatever you normally use to close portals.” He says, stepping very far away from the circles on the ground, and tucking his hands behind his back.

You frown. It seems too simple after how hard this has all been, but you do what he says. The portal closes easily, with minimal fanfare. You squint at the demon. Something is off.

“You set me up.” You say, realization dawning. This was all a ploy so you’d make a deal with him. You can’t believe you didn’t put the pieces together. As soon as the thought crosses your mind, you feel stupid. Of course he did, he’s a demon. This is what demons do, but the hurt is there, and for some reason, it lingers.

The demon shrugs, but he’s not looking at you.

You throw the vial roughly into your bag of banishing supplies and storm upstairs. You don’t want to deal with this anymore.

It takes a few weeks for you to forgive the demon–Grath, he says you can call him, though it’s not his True Name–enough to speak to him more than is absolutely necessary. During that time, you pack. The demon is your shadow whether you acknowledge him or not, lurking just behind you as you pack up your personal belongings, arrange to return borrowed items to the local church and donate the rest.

There are a few days in a hotel, after you turn the house back over to its owners, but before you have been told where you’re going next. Grath spends the time lounging on the bed in the hotel room, demolishing the minibar and watching TV. You spend the time on your laptop, trying to figure out how to get out of this contract early. There’s nothing, of course, because either nobody else is this stupid, or nobody this stupid would admit to it.

You travel by train to your next assignment, on the Northeast coast of the country. It’s a little over a week by train, and there’s a few transfers along the way. Normally you’d have driven, but you want the time to figure out what’s going on between you and Grath, and maybe do some research, rather than having to focus on the road. (You’re too afraid of airplanes for them to even be considered as an option. Unless someone’s life is on the line they’re not getting you on a plane.)

“You need to stop long enough to eat something,” Grath says one afternoon, interrupting you as you dig into one of the thick tomes your supervisor had shipped to you. The demon sits on your bed, your e-reader in his hand, and a frown marring his gorgeous face. “If you starve yourself, I’ll have to bring you back to claim your soul, and that is more work than I want to do right now.”

You glare at him, but put the book down, and rise from your seat, stretching to relieve the stiffness you feel in your back. You’ve been sitting too long at the miniature desk in your cabin; it would be good to get out and walk around, even if it’s just to the dining car and back. As you reach for the ceiling, you feel your shirt ride up. There’s a noise from the bed that makes you glance over, to find Grath staring at you with an intensity you haven’t seen before.

You hastily tug your shirt down and rush from the room.

Things seem to escalate from there. Grath’s gaze, when he looks at you, seems hungrier, and you catch it lingering on you more frequently. The conversation between you is, dare you say it, flirtatious. You are shocked to find yourself returning the looks and flirtation. The issue isn’t so much that you fear it’s leading to something–your god does not demand celibacy–so much as it is with whom.

The assignment on the coast passes easily enough–it’s a simple possession, and your exorcism skills are barely tested–and then you’re off to the next one. You and Grath spend a lot of time in the car over the next month, moving from town to town.

You… talk.

You tell him about your childhood. About seeing demons and spirits, about seeing the portals and rifts that others couldn’t see. You tell him about joining the priesthood and your time as a priest. He listens, and in turn tells you about some of his past. It has a ring of truth to it, the way he speaks, and it makes you wonder if he is as evil as you had expected. He’s certainly selfish–as al demons are–but evil?

Then you chastise yourself, reminding yourself that this is what he is here for. To make you doubt and tempt you. So you let the conversation lapse and instead focus on prayer as you drive.

The cycle repeats.

Your god remains silent. The tasks you are assigned to are still so simple. Grath, your shadow, is still beautiful and unexpected, and he tempts you with flirtation.

Until finally, four months later, you give in.

It only takes a moment of weakness in a hotel room. One look that lingers too long as the two of you sit side by side on the bed. Then your lips are pressing against his, discovering that he tastes better than you’d imagined, late at night after the lights were off. He moans, and his arms are around you, his hands huge and hot, dragging over your back, the sensation strange as he seems to lose control of his physical form.

Parts of him drift away, becoming merely shadow once more as he devours you, his tongue sliding past your lips, tangling with yours. You draw the parts of him you can still hold closer. He loses his shirt, working it over his head, breaking your kiss for only a moment. It lets you run your hands over his bare skin, which is velvety under your touch. The two of you roll, so he is on top of you, his weight pressing you into the mattress, though there is already less of him than you would expect as the intensity of the moment causes him dissolve.

You laugh, running your hands through a portion of him that has gone intangible. Grath shivers, his face drawn tight.

“Fuck,” he growls.

“You like that?” You ask, doing it again, watching the play of emotion across his face. It’s clear from the way he reacts, his hips thrusting against you, that he does. You grin.

“Too much,” he says. You slow, and that seems to allow him to focus enough to move on you.

He works at your collar with hands gone shadowy, working his way down your shirt with supernatural speed, spreading it open and revealing your torso to him. He licks his lips, his tongue red and wet against the blackness of his face before he lowers himself and begins nibbling at you. You arch into him, and reach for his head, but shadowy hands press you back down as he works his way down your torso. He unfastens your pants.

You fall back against the pillows, breathing heavily.

“Do you want this?” Grath asks, pausing, one of his hands just touching the zipper of your pants.

You nod.

He doesn’t move, so you look down at him. He’s watching you, hunger clear on his face, his violet eyes sparkling at you.

“I need you to say it out loud. Do you want this?”

“Yes.”

“Good,” Grath smiles that wicked smile at you, and before you know it, your erect cock is freed from your pants.

He strokes it with his tongue, and your brain short circuits. Your hips thrust off the bed; it’s been so long since anyone else has touched you, and he feels so good. One of his hands presses you back down into the bed as his lips wrap around you, and he takes you into his mouth. He’s skillful, bringing you to the edge in no time.

“I’m almost-” you gasp.

Grath redoubles his efforts, his mouth is hot and wet around you, as he sucks gently and teases you with his tongue. You’re climaxing in no time, spilling on his tongue, biting into the back of your hand to stifle the scream that tears from your lips.

The demon sits back with a smug smile as you lay there, sweaty and panting on the bed. Parts of him are still translucent. You aren’t one to take without returning the favor, so you use the moment to reverse your positions, until he’s on the bed under you, and you’re straddling his hips.

You rake your nails over his chest, and he growls. You like that a lot, so you do it again, digging in a little harder. Grath’s growl becomes deeper, his stare more intense as he lays there, struggling to maintain a solid form.

“You’ve been driving me crazy for months.” You admit. You lean forward, and claim his mouth in a bruising kiss.

One of his arms comes around you, holding you tight to him as you devour him once more. Your teeth tease his lower lip, biting it lightly before you suck on it. He humps against you, desperation clear in his movements.

Your breathing is coming fast, and things are spiralling out of control rapidly when Grath whimpers, and you feel him release, his sticky seed a mess on your stomachs where you’re pressed together. He looks embarrassed. You imagine if shadows could blush, he’d be crimson, but instead he goes more intangible, his face less defined as his violet eyes look everywhere but at you.

“Hey,” you say, your fingers brushing through the darkness of his head before finding something solid and turning him to look at you. “We’re still good.”

“Yeah?” He asks. The vulnerability you can hear in his voice is what does you in.

“Yeah.” You tell him.

You’re his. Maybe you’re corrupted, maybe not. You don’t know yet, and there’s a bit of time yet before you have to figure that all out; a few months before your year-and-a-day is up, but at the end of that, you know you’ll do what it takes to stay with him.

You reach out your hand and grab his. You’re doomed, but… you’ll cross that bridge when you get there.


End file.
